


Angel's Child

by janescott



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-05
Updated: 2010-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-09 22:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janescott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based <i>very loosely</i> on this aianonlovefest prompt: Kradam wingfic PLZKTHX. Somehow my brain turned that into "Kris has wings branded on to his back." Er. Beta'd by equus07<br/>Word count: 6594</p><p>Disclaimer: Nothing here belongs to me. FML.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel's Child

The fall can be beautiful. And the fall can take centuries.

Falling from the heavens – from the grace of God himself – is no small thing. The fall of an archangel set the heavens alight with the fires of battle. Some are still recovering; some are still falling.

The fall can be beautiful. And the fall can take centuries.

My fall – it started on the last day, of the last battle. I hadn't wanted to fall. Nor did I want to choose sides between my brothers: Michael on one side, with the hosts of heaven: fierce and proud, and _sure_. And on the other side – Lucifer, with his own host. Smaller, but no less fierce, no less certain.

The battle raged for years, for centuries – it was timeless, and bloody. I wasn't the only one caught in the middle. We would turn, from one to the other, begging, pleading, but in the end it was no use.

Neither Michael nor Lucifer would give their ground.

And the fall ... _Lucifer's_ fall ... did he jump? Was he pushed? I still don't know.

But his fall set the heavens alight. If I close my eyes, I can still see the fires, and the angels falling around me. I can hear the defiance in Lucifer's final roar as he falls. I hear the cries of the other archangels as they watch their brother fall from the grace of God. It is no small thing.

Lucifer screams as Hell is created for him. His screams, and the screams of the other fallen echo in my ears like distant thunder – rumbling, and constant.

I turn to Michael, still defiant, but his face is streaked with tears. We were brothers. All of us.

"Choose," he says to me, and to the others, caught in the middle of this terrible fight. I'm aware of my brothers drifting to Michael, or falling to Lucifer. I cannot move.

"Choose," Michael says again, his voice gentle. "If you do not – I will have to choose for you."

The fall can be beautiful. And the fall can take centuries.

***

Michael chose my fall, but I am not destined for Hell. He gives me that. It's his last gift.

I fall to the earth, to the world.

Los Angeles. City of Angels. City of ... Lucifer would love it here, I think as it assaults me in all its human glory and filth. I sit up, naked, dazed and ... human. I keep all of my memories. But my wings are gone. At least – I feel something on my back as I shift my shoulders, trying to get used to the not-feel of my wings.

I drag myself up to standing, and take in my surroundings. I'm in some kind of alleyway, and I can hear the pulsing beat of music as a door opens and two people stumble out into the night, laughing, and pulling at each other's clothes.

I have never needed to speak out loud, but I realise they are not going to hear my thoughts the way my brothers do ... did. "I ... I think I need help," I say, hesitant. I feel no bad intent from them, but it's still a risk.

The taller of the two – a man with dark hair and sharp blue eyes – whirls around first, shocked.

"What the – what are you _doing_ out here? Who are you?"

He's in front of me in two long strides, his companion trailing along behind him reluctantly.

"Adam ... come on. It's just some homeless guy. Let's go back in ..."

The tall one – Adam – puts up a hand, saying nothing. I watch, the rough bricks of the building I'm leaning against digging into my back.

"You go if you want to," he says, without turning around. I watch as the other man rocks back on his heels in indecision for a moment, but Adam's eyes are intent on me, and after a moment the man leaves, going back into the club, slamming the door. They don't know each other well, but the other man's disappointment and anger flare sharply on the air for a moment.

"Here," he says, taking off his jacket. "I know it's not that cold, but you can't walk around naked like that."

I slip the jacket – long; soft black leather that I already know is expensive – on, wrapping it around my body. I feel warmer instantly.

"Thank you," I say.

Adam purses his lips thoughtfully, staring at me. "I'm probably going to regret this," he says, before pulling a cellphone out of his pocket and making a call.

I wait, inhaling the scent of leather and cologne from the jacket as he calls his driver. He's famous, I realise suddenly. I see music when I look at him. And flashes like ... cameras.

"Come on," he says, glancing back at me. I look down the alley and see headlights shining, making it look even more dingy and dark than it had when I landed.

I stumble over a stone, and he catches my arm, looking down at me with a puzzled frown.

"What's your name?" he asks, as we move towards the car.

"Kris," I say as he opens the door and I climb gratefully into the back seat.

I smile at the man behind the wheel, who has turned to watch us. "You sure about this, boss?" he asks Adam, and the protective feel I get from him makes me smile.

Safe. I feel safe here.

"No, Tony, but I'm going to do it anyway. Home, please?"

Tony shrugs and starts the car. There's a lot he wants to say to Adam – mostly about not picking up strange naked men in alleyways, and about ... paps? Oh, photographers, and how Adam was just lucky that Britney showed up when she did ... but Tony doesn't say any of this out loud to Adam. He just drives, and glances at me in the rear-view mirror occasionally.

"Apartment?" Tony asks eventually.

"What?" Adam stirs from where he had been dozing, his head against the window. He's tired, I think, watching him. Very, very tired. "Oh. Uh. Yeah, Tony, thanks."

"Boss ... you sure? I mean ..."

"I could be anyone," I say softly.

"No offence, kid, but yeah. You could be anyone."

Adam turns to look at me again, that same, puzzled look on his face. "He's – you're – I don't know. But I'm sure I'm going to be okay."

Tony's not entirely happy with that, I know, but he goes along with Adam anyway. _Like always_ I catch, before Adam and I are heading for the elevator in his building.

"I live on the top floor," he says to me as I watch the buttons go up ... and up ... _not high enough_ I think; the loss shooting through me, swift and painful. I double over with it and feel a large hand on my back and oh, my _wings_ ... I don't know what I miss the most.

"Are you alright? Kris? Say something. Are you alright?"

I nod, unable to speak with the magnitude of the loss I'm feeling right now.

"I'm alright. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

The elevator stops and we step out into a hushed, carpeted hallway. "Here we go. The penthouse takes up the whole floor," Adam explains as he unlocks the door. "It's too big for one person, but ..." he stops talking with an effort, and I follow him in. I don't register much about the space, except it's big, by human standards I suppose.

I head straight for the balcony instead, pushing open the double doors and leaning out as far as I can. "I can't see the stars," I say without turning around when I hear Adam come up behind me.

"Light pollution," he says softly. "You have to go up a lot higher. Come inside – I'll find you some clothes. Something to eat, and maybe you can tell me what happened?"

He says the last with a hesitant lilt, like he's not sure he wants to hear the answer. He's puzzled and confused by me, but not scared. I wouldn't be in his home otherwise.

Reluctantly I follow him when he goes back inside, watching as he digs around in a tall set of drawers, muttering.

I notice a full length mirror, and slide the jacket down, checking my back.

There are scars, where my wings were ripped from me in my fall. If I close my eyes, I can see Lucifer's wings, burning and shredding as he falls, fast and hard into his new realm.

My eyes roam over my back, checking ...

"Is that a tattoo?" Adam asks, stepping closer as he absently hands me a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants – both of which had been left behind by someone else, I know. He's staring at the black outlines of the wings now permanently etched into my back.

It does look like a tattoo, but it's not.

It's a scar; a branding – a burning. Michael's last gift to me was to let me fall to earth. His last punishment was to burn my wings into my back.

"Yes," I say to Adam, pulling on the clothes. "It's a tattoo."

***********

I dream as a human, I find. I dream of home, and I dream of my fall. I dream of Lucifer's fall, and everything is so real, and so vivid. What I do not dream of, is heaven before the fall; before the last war.

I don't know I'm screaming until Adam is shaking me by the shoulder.

"Kris? Kris! Wake up!!" I'm jolted from my dreams and I'm angry at whoever it is that has taken me away from all I have left of my home. I start up, my heart thumping wildly and for a second I don't recognise Adam and push back against the bedhead.

"Kris," he says more gently. "You were having a nightmare. You were screaming."

"Adam," I say, remembering suddenly. I fell. I fell.

"Yes, Adam," he says, rubbing my upper arm with his thumb, making small, soothing circles.

"I'm – I'm sorry. I-" I bite back what I was going to say. How can I explain to him I've never dreamed before? Never had a nightmare? I had no need of dreams before.

"It's okay. You're okay. Look – it's morning anyway. My manager and publicist are going to be here soon – they want to yell at me in person about you. So -"

Whatever Adam was going to say is cut off by a knock at the door. He gets off the bed, and I get up to follow him, still disoriented from my dream. Home. I was _home_, and I think the grief is going to cripple me.

But I make it as far as the kitchen table, grabbing at the corner and feeling the bite of wood under my fingers. I sit as Adam opens the door, and it's Tony, carrying a box. "Hey, Adam. Still got your guest, I see?"

"Yeah, Tony, he's still here. And I'm still alive, and all of my worldly goods are fine, too. I think you can stop worrying."  
"I wasn't worried," Tony says, as Adam starts moving around the kitchen, and a rich, dark aroma fills the room. Coffee, I think, inhaling. Adam puts a mug in front of me, and smiles as Tony puts the box on the table, sitting down across from me.

"Clothes for you," he says, "From my wife, Gloria. Our eldest has just grown out of them, and they look to be about your size. Assuming, that is," he says, as Adam sits down, handing another mug to Tony and curling his hand around the other one, "That Kris here is staying."

Adam's impulsive, I realise. I knew that the night before, I think, but I had just fallen, and I couldn't process much besides images, and impressions. He's led by his heart, his gut; all of the things that are _good_ about humans.

"Yes," he says, firmly, although it's not really Tony he has to convince. Nor me. "Kris here is staying. I mean – if you want to," he says, turning to me, and I can almost touch his hope; his loneliness. He likes the idea of having someone to take care of. Someone to ... protect.

His life, I realise, is big, but it's lonely at the moment. He's in danger of flying off – there's something dark around the edges of him, and he needs something to ground him. Whether that's me or not – I don't know.

But. "I don't have anywhere else to go," I say honestly.

"Where did you come _from?_" Adam asks me, studying my face like he's trying to memorise it.

"I ... I fell," I say, not knowing what else to say.

"You fell. From where? It can't have been a roof, you'd have broken bones, or something. You didn't just fall out of the sky. Where are you _from?_"

I close my eyes, as a memory rises unbidden. Home. I'm from home. But that makes no sense here, in this world of absolutes and tangibles. It's Tony who saves me.

"Let him be, Adam. He's exhausted. And it doesn't really matter, does it? You're fine, everything you own is still here, and ... it doesn't matter."

Tony's looking at me very intently and on impulse I reach out, laying my fingers across his pulse. And there. There it is. In his heartbeat. "Your wife," I say. "She's – she fell, too."

"Twenty years ago," Tony says, looking me in the eye. I'm aware of Adam looking at both of us, as he catalogues what he might have taken the night before because – "What's going on? Do you two know each other?"

"No," I say, withdrawing my fingers from Tony's arm, and turning back to him. "It turns out – I know Tony's wife, Gloria. Or, I did. A long time ago," and the pain and the grief is back. I rub at my eyes and pick up the mug to have something to do with my hands.

Adam is about to ask what's going on, the question is so transparent I can see it in the air between us. I study him for a moment, and think about what I saw in Tony's heartbeat; when he met Gloria, and how long it took her to convince him of the truth.

I can't spare that kind of energy right now. Impulsively I reach out and touch Adam's arm, and his heart – his pulse – is chaotic. I have seen planets live and die, I have seen stars go supernova, and Adam is right on that edge. He's living a hollow life right now, which is hurting him. It's why he's out every night, looking for love, looking for answers, looking for something underneath the fame, and the glitz and the concerts.

Music runs through his pulse like an electrical current. It's what drives him, what gets him up and keeps him moving. But the traps that go with it – the fame, living his life in public, the boys, even, are starting to mute that current. He's blazing like a star that's about to burn out, and I wonder if where I fell was entirely an accident, or whether Michael – with his archangel's ability to see all of time stretched out before him - sent me to Adam, for redemption.

My question is though: Adam's or mine?

I pull back and say, "I'm sorry. I just -" but I can't explain that either. Not right now.

The question is still there, but something in Adam has soothed a little bit. He's jangling a little less, and I realise that I did that. That I can do that.

He just frowns at me and shakes his head before asking, "Should I call the hospitals? Psychiatric homes?"

"I – no. I'm not a patient. I'm fine. I just. I lost something," I say, my words inadequate to describe the loss of heaven.

I'm spared more questions by another knock at the door. As Adam had predicted, it's his manager, and his publicist, come to yell at him about photos on a website of him getting into his car with a mysterious stranger wearing his coat.

I take the chance, in the chaos as the two women trade off a lecture about _strangers_ and _care_ and other things that I tune out for now, to slide the box off the table, smile a thank you to Tony and head into the guest room.

There's a small bathroom attached and I don't know whether it's sad, or funny that a shower sounds like the closest thing to heaven right now.

****

I open the box and slide my hands over the clothes, feeling Gloria in the threads and the weaves. Jeans, mostly. Some shirts and t-shirts. As an angel, she soared through the vaults of heaven itself. As a woman and a mother, she is loving and practical. But even in these threads I feel the beat of "home ... home ... home ..."

Shaking that off as best I can (although not entirely) I go into the bathroom and turn on the water. I slip out of the clothes Adam loaned me the night before, managing to avoid looking at my back. I don't know whether Gloria is marked like me, or how she, too, fell to earth.

Perhaps she, too, made a bargain with Michael.

The water of the shower drums over and around me, hot and welcoming.

What's less welcoming is what's waiting for me in the kitchen when I come out dressed in Tony and Gloria's son's clothes. I can feel the beat of his lifeline in the threads now, of his growing up, his steady, unspoken love for his parents and his younger sister; his fear and excitement at leaving home for college.

I want to tell Tony that he'll be fine, but Gloria knows that already.

Tony and Adam are facing off with the two women who came in earlier, who both turn to look at me, trying to stare me down.

I have faced the hosts of heaven and hell, but the glares of these two women unnerve me.

There is a crackle on the air, a shift in the atmosphere as though lightning is about to strike. I reach up, out of habit, for my wings, but of course, they are not there, so I find myself scratching my neck.

Tony breaks the silence first: "See? He's not dangerous, he is not a drug addict, and he is certainly not some spy for Perez _Hilton!_"

His voice rises and everyone turns to stare at him. It's rare for Tony to lose his temper. Even more rare for him to shout, but he gets their attention.

"Fine," one of the women – Andrea – says, backing down. "But are you sure about him staying here?" she asks Adam. "There's plenty of shelters in LA. Lots of do-gooders just _waiting_ for the chance to earn their fucking wings."

I glance at Tony then, and his mouth quirks in a smile.

"He's staying," Adam says suddenly, a little too loud, making everybody jump a little.

"Let's remember that you all work for me, and not the other way around, all right?"

The edge in his voice raises tiny hairs on the back of my neck I didn't know were there, and it's enough to make everyone subside.

And it's settled. Just like that. No one argues with him again, and I sort of ... move in.

************

Mostly I watch from the sidelines.

I watch as Adam goes out nearly every night, looking and looking. I watch as he brings home what seems like a different boy every night, as he _searches_.

He's looking for answers on their skin, in their bodies, in whatever they offer him, and I want to say _you're looking in the wrong places_, but he doesn't know me well enough for that yet.

I watch as he fights for his vision for his music, and I watch as he battles with himself not to give in to the excesses that are offered to him every day.

I do what I can, which isn't much. Mostly I listen. I listen when he talks, and I listen to new songs. I listen when he's silent as well; which is far too often for someone who's nature is in constant motion.

He's burning up, and he's burning up, and I don't know if I can save him.

It takes me a month of living with Adam to realise that I have fallen again.

Andrea finds me a part-time job at a DVD rental store after I spend a day re-ordering Adam's books, CDs, DVDs and everything in his kitchen by alphabet and all of his sheets and towels by colour.

I like order, now. I didn't mean for his housekeeper to nearly quit, though. So I take the job, after enduring a lecture from Andrea, who manages Adam's career the same way, I think, she would raise children: with a lot of discipline underlaid with love, and patience.

I like the store, and going to work gives my days structure, and purpose. I keep to myself as much as possible, and after that first, fateful night, Adam and I are never seen together in public, so we're never connected.

But oh, the fall ... I thought the most pain I could ever feel would be the loss of heaven; the loss of home. Then ... I stumble into the life of someone like Adam, and I learn how many different kinds of pain there are.

His pain is tangible to me. I can see it every day; nearly _taste_ it on the air around him. I just wish I could make him see how much he's hurting himself.

And then ... then I fall. Or at least – I realise I have fallen again.

*****

As an angel I loved. We loved. We loved collectively. We were brothers, all of us, and we were everything to each other. We never called it love. It just – was.

Here, as a human, with a human heart ... oh. I had no idea it would feel this way. That just _watching_ Adam put himself through the wringer like that every single day would hurt inside the way the branding of my wings had hurt my skin.

And this spike of anger I feel when he brings one of the boys – the hollow boys – home night after night ... I don't know what that is.

Everything comes to a head one night when I tell myself I'm not waiting up. I'm not. I'm reading. And I'm not worried about Adam, about how _close_ he is to burning out altogether.

It's after 3am when I hear a stumble and muffled voices at the door. There's at least two people with Adam, and one of them – I get up and cross the room swiftly, pulling the door open.

There's Adam, with his friend Cassidy, smiling at me, holding Adam up. "Hey, Kris," he says, and he's mostly sober. Adam's draped over him and grinning, his eyes bright, and he's very drunk.

"Krissssssssss," he says, drawing out the 's' as they stumble into the apartment.

The third man with them. I stand back and watch as Cassidy and Adam stumble over to the couch, before I reach out and pull the other into the apartment by his shirt, slamming him into the wall, baring my teeth.

I can hear Cassidy moving towards us, but James just turns his head and says, "It's alright. He's my brother."

"Your brother," Cassidy says blankly and I realise how we must look. I untangle my hand from James's shirt and carefully put my hands down by my side, staring at him for a minute.

"In a manner of speaking," I say, gritting my teeth and trying to keep my voice calm.

James had fallen, but not like me. He _chose_ his fall, and he chose Lucifer so – "What are you doing here?" I ask him quietly as Cassidy turns back to Adam, who has stumbled out of his chair, and is heading for the bathroom, looking pale.

Cassidy's torn for a second, but I say, "Go with Adam. We're fine here." I try not to snarl in frustration when he looks at James, who just nods. "I'll be alright," he says, smirking a little.

I turn back as Cassidy follows Adam into the bathroom and I don't know whether I want to hit James or – he puts his hand on my face then and says, "It's good to see you. Brother."

"What are you _doing_ here?" I ask, pretending that James's hand doesn't feel like it's burning and blistering my skin. "I thought you were in Hell," I say, meeting his eyes. He's my height, skinny, with black hair and remarkable pale green eyes, Sharp cheekbones and a full mouth. I can see why he caught Adam's eye, but ... he shouldn't be here.

"I could ask you the same thing," he says softly, lightly scratching my face before taking his hand away.

"I couldn't choose, and so -"

"So Michael chose for you? And he chose earth. How _generous_ of him."

"Don't. Don't do that. Don't say that. I couldn't choose. I _couldn't_."

James leans against the wall, gritting his teeth and shoving his hands in his pockets. "You weren't the only one. I know there's others like you here."

I nod. "I know. But that doesn't answer my question. What are _you_ doing here? On this plane?"

James shrugs, and winces, pulling himself away from the wall and heading towards the kitchen. My heart sinks when I realise he's been here before. Not for a while; not since before I fell, but he has been here before.

He sits down at the table, and pats the chair beside him, like he lives here.

"Sit. I'll tell you all about it." He's smirking, and his eyes are cold.

"All about -" Cassidy sticks his head in then, saying, "Adam's passed out. He's fine, I've put him to bed. I'm going to go. Do you need a ride anywhere?" he asks James.

"No, I'll be fine. I'm just going to catch up with my brother here for a bit."

Cassidy looks from James to me, and frowns. He knows he's missing something, but all he says is, "Well, alright then. G'nite."

I automatically look at the time on the microwave. It's nearly 4am. I rub at my eyes and wait for Cassidy to leave.

"All about what?" I ask, once we're alone.

"How I got here. Why I'm here."

I glance involuntarily towards Adam's room. "I can guess that part for myself," I say, turning back to James.

He just laughs, showing all of his teeth, gleaming white. "He does have a dark aura, doesn't he? It's very attractive."

I lay my hands flat on the table and look down, watching as my fingers press into the wood, and James just _laughs_.

"He's not lost yet," I say quietly, meeting his eyes.

"To you? No, not yet. But time's ticking on, Kris. Make a move soon, or he'll be ours."

And then I understand. "Oh. Lucifer's sent you out – not just you – looking for lost souls. That's why you're here. Why you're hanging around Adam. Because he's on the brink."

"Exactly. Of course, finding you here ... that's a blow. I don't suppose I could persuade you ..."

James arches an eyebrow at me, but all I do is shake my head. "I'm not going anywhere. If I ever see _you_ here again ..."

But all he does at that is laugh. "Oh, I'm going. For now. Remember though, Kris, you can't be around him all the time. And he is _so_ ready to fall."

James lays a hand on my shoulder before he leaves, and it's hot. "Are you marked?" he asks, and it's almost gentle. I nod, not looking up. "My back," I say. "It's ... branded."

"Just branded?" James asks and I look up at the bitterness in his voice. "You're lucky. Here. Look what I get for my sins." He undoes the buttons on his shirt and slides it down, turning so his back is to me. At first I don't see anything. Smooth, brown skin. Then. My eyes shift and I catch it. I have to stop myself from reaching out.

James's wings have been burned into his skin, like mine. Except – they're still burning. I swallow hard and say, "How do you live with that?" as he pulls his shirt back on, doing up the buttons without facing me.

"We all paid a price in the war, Kris. Some more than others." And then he's gone.

He wants me to feel sorry for him. And I almost do.

But. I can't. Because that's how I'll lose Adam.

No.

_No_. They won't have him.

I push back from the chair and go into Adam's room, watching him sleep. He's lying on his side, one arm dangling over the edge of the bed, and the room smells like alcohol.

As quietly as I can, I lie down beside him, pulling the covers up over the both of us.

********************

I wake up to the sun streaming in, bathing the room in yellow light.

My decision is made.

Gently I shake Adam by the shoulder. "Adam. Adam, wake up. I need to tell you something."

He stirs and rolls on to his back, squinting. "Kris?" His voice sounds rough and hoarse. He's supposed to be recording today, but I have a feeling that won't be happening.

"What is it – what are you doing in here?" he asks, as he drags himself up, blinking. He's still wearing his clothes from the night before, although Cassidy had taken his boots off.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay, and I fell asleep."

"You know, you're a terrible liar," Adam says, ruffling a hand through my hair before yawning.

"Fuck, my head. Can whatever it is wait until I've taken some aspirin?"

"Sure. Of course. I'll get it."

I scramble out of Adam's bed and come back with painkillers and a large glass of water. It won't help much, and my timing is bad, but James is too close, and I need to do this now.

"Thanks. Okay. So. Spill. What is it?"

I sit on the bed, crossing my legs and pleating the cover over and over again with my fingers.

"Kris," Adam says, covering my hand with his. "Stop. You're starting to freak me out a little bit. What's going on?"

"How do you know James?" I ask, surprised at myself. I hadn't meant to ask that at all.

"James. Oh, right. He's ... your brother?"

I nod, staring out the window at the sun and the sky, and ... "In a manner of speaking," I say quietly.

"Kris, look at me." Reluctantly I drag my eyes back from the window, and meet Adam's puzzled gaze. "What does that mean? In a manner of speaking. Either he's your brother, or he's not."

Biting my lip, I make my decision. It's now, or I'll lose Adam to the darkness forever. Centuries ago I lost my only home because I couldn't choose. I'm not making the same mistake twice.

Twisting around so my back is to Adam, I pull off my shirt, exposing my branding.

Looking back, I pick up Adam's hand and say, "Here. Touch. Tell me what you feel."

And I can feel the spike of his hangover, and I feel bad for pushing, but I'm out of time, and out of choices.

Tentatively he traces one of the black lines with the tip of a finger, and I shiver a little under his touch.

"But – I can feel it. If it's a tattoo, I shouldn't be able to feel it. It should just feel like skin."

I sit as still as I can, as he keeps tracing the outline of my wings, finding the patterns. His fingers brush lightly over the scars on my shoulder blades and I can't help it. I arch a little, into his touch.

"Who are you?" he asks me quietly, laying his hand flat on the small of my back.

"It's not a tattoo," I say. "It's ... it's a brand. It was a punishment." I feel his fingers tighten on my back, the beat of his blood in his fingertips, rising in outrage on my behalf.

"My God, Kris who did this? What happened?"

I shift, and he drops his hand back to the bed. Turning to face him again, I take his hand, lacing our fingers together for a minute. James is right, I think absently. He's close to the edge. Closer than I thought, and I don't know if what I have to offer is enough.

"Adam," I say, laying his hand flat on the bed and running my thumb over his palm. And now it's his turn to shiver. "Kris ... what – what are you doing?"

He wants to say: _what are you doing to me_ but he's guarded with me. With what he feels for me.

"The brand. It was a punishment from – my brother Michael. A long – a very, very long time ago. When I told you that I fell, Adam, it was the truth. I fell from ..." I take a deep breath, and meet Adam's eyes, blue like the sky outside now, and confused.

"I fell from heaven," I say quietly, with as much courage as I can muster.

He stares at me for a moment, like I've lost my mind. And I know how it sounds. But – "It's the truth. It's how I know Gloria. She's ... like me."

"And James?" he asks, his voice small and dry.

"James is ... something else. I mean ..." I get up from the bed and start pacing, aware of Adam's eyes following me, and the sharp sting of his lingering hangover. "He _was_ like us. Like me. But when ... when the fall happened – he made a choice. He was _able_ to make a choice."

"And you weren't?" Adam asks, slightly dazed. "Kris ... this is – you have to know how this sounds."

"I know. I know how it sounds. But I need you to believe me, Adam. I – I had no idea James was so _close_ \- that any of Lucifer's fallen were so close to you. I'm sorry."

He blinks then, confused. I'm moving too fast. "I'm sorry," I say again. "I ... uh, I'll go and make coffee. Let you be."

I go into the kitchen and set the coffeemaker going, reaching for the mugs. I need help. Reaching for my phone, I scroll for Tony's number. It's Saturday, and I know Adam had given him yesterday off, which is why Cassidy had brought Adam home in the first place. "Kris?" he says, when he answers the phone.

"It's me. I'm sorry to call, but Tony – can you come to Adam's? And bring Gloria? Please."

This is what I like best about Tony: he grasps situations instantly. "You told him. We'll be there as soon as we can."

All I can do now is wait. It feels like forever and no time at all before they arrive, and I realise that this is the first time I've seen Gloria on this plane. I remember her as blonde, and pale; beautiful and – yes – glorious. She is all of these things still, but tempered by 20 years as a human; a wife, a mother and a book editor.

Then she is saying my name over, and over and all I can do is hold on. Gloria feels like _home_ and suddenly I can't get enough.

"Kris ..." she says, over and over, running her hands through my hair, over my back; feeling my brands and my scars. My hands on her back, and I feel the same brands. The same scars.

Tony put his hand gently on Gloria's back, and I part from her reluctantly.

"Adam," he says gently, looking at both of us. Gloria nods, her blue eyes bright with tears. Silently I reach out with my thumb and feel the water run over it as she's unable to help herself.

"Right," she says, her voice shaky. "I'll go and. I'll talk to him. Don't worry," she says to me, resting her hand on my cheek. "Everything will be alright."

Her faith, her belief steadies me, and I'm able to sit. I can't help staring at Adam's closed door, though, and barely register when Tony sits down beside me.

"Alright?" he asks quietly and I nod, not daring to look up from my hands.

"I'm ... trying not to listen," I say, with a small, nervous laugh.

Tony reaches his hand across the table, the tips of his fingers bare inches from mine. "It'll be okay," he says quietly. "I think Adam's been waiting for you."

I nod, but I can't look up. I hear Tony get up, making coffee, bringing the mugs back to the table, the dull thunk as he puts them down.

We wait. It feels like eternity, but it's only a couple of hours before Adam and Gloria come out of his room, Gloria's arm wrapped around Adam's waist, and he's looking at her like he's never seen her before, or like he's just discovered the most precious thing in the universe.

Then he looks at me and it feels like my heart stops.

I'm aware, distantly, of Tony and Gloria leaving, and of Adam sitting down beside me. He stares at me for a moment, searching my face. "Okay," he says quietly, laying his arm out on the table.

"Show me," and I take his hand, pressing his fingertips to the pulse point at my wrist, opening up to him the way my wings used to span the vaults of heaven itself.

As I show him everything that I can, he looks at me again, and I see the light, and the music filter through the dark current that has been running through him for far too long. Love and longing spike then, too, sharp and sudden.

Then his mouth is on mine, his hands are in my hair, and everything recedes, and sharpens to a point all at once. He pushes his forehead against mine, and it's cool and broad, his heartbeat skittering through his body like a ball bouncing down a long flight of stairs.

"I can see it, I can, but I have so many questions. I don't know where to start," Adam says, _so close_ to me, his hands sliding under my shirt, stopping when they encounter my wings – my brands.

"Does it – does it hurt?" he asks, pulling back to look me in the eye, but not moving his hands.

I shake my head, sliding my hands around his neck, and tangling them in his thick hair.

"No," I say as he pulls me close. "Not any more."


End file.
